Cyclical Choices
by and belgium
Summary: There used to be a time when he, Asuka and Rei would just walk silently, before he said goodbyes to his closest friends - he would give nearly anything to have those moments back. But that was a long time ago; he was going to leave his life. -Slight AU-


**Disclaimer: **I do not own 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' in any shape or form

A/N: I will give you a special prize if you can tell me, to a T, what the main inspiration for this fic is… Besides, this is my awful attempt for trying to write like this author (Disclaimer'd!) - I mean, imitation is the best form of flattery, right?

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He stares outside the window, watching the cloud conceal the sun, darkening the school field. He leans his head onto his lifted hand and in his ears were the sound of the bell; it had just rung.

Many people passed. He was the only one in his classroom right now; he heard footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before decade-old apartments. There used to be a time when he, Asuka and Rei would just walk silently slow against a gradient on their way to Tokyo-3, just before he had said his goodbyes to his two closest friends - he would give nearly anything to just have those simple, quality moments back. But that was a long time ago; Asuka and Rei are in a state; Misato was not a safety net. He extremely dislikes his father, and the rest of his friends, Kensuke and Toji, were practically dead to him. Everything changes. Now he was going to go far away from all this, to leave his life.

He looked around the room, reviewing all its familiar objects, wondering how much dust they have collected over the days. Perhaps he would never see those familiar objects from which he never thought of being separated from.

He had been told to go home and leave the school. Was he okay? The teacher asked, but they could only be offered a small smile and a slight nod before he walked past those class room doors for, what he felt, would be the last time.

Was this wise? He tried to weigh each side of the question. Tokyo-3 was the people's protection, he was regarded, in a way, as a hero. Of course, he had to work hard for both that and living in his 'home'. What would they say of him once they find out that he had run away? And with another? They'd say he was a fool, perhaps; and his place would be filled up by scientific matters. Asuka would be glad. She had always had an edge on him, especially when they're in the same room.

- Stupid Shinji! Stop looking outside the window!

- Get out of this room, Stupid Shinji! I need the space!

He would not cry many tears after retreating to his secure room.

He would normally stay in his room longer than average, giving Misato a reason to consult to him if he was in need for anything. She made it sound like as if he needed necessities, not questioning the rationality of his emotions. Her voice was soothing through wooden doors, giving him the false feeling of protection, although he has nobody to protect him.

He walked home the long way, slower than usual. Nobody cares about him, he thought, nobody could protect him. But as he looked at the sunset, after he contemplated on how his life wasn't wholly undesirable, it gave the sea that brilliant shine with the red of life against the swaying silver water; it reminded him so much of his saviour. His guardian angel, Kaworu.

He was about to explore a new life with him. Kaworu was very kind, open-hearted, strong but delicate as well. He was to go away with him by train, to run away from all these harsh bonds and start new ones.

Oh, how well he remembered the first time he had seen him; it was exactly where he was standing. He was gazing towards the same sea, but it had seemed to have not had the same shine as it did back then. He then heard the deep, soothing hum emitting next to him; he was stunned to see someone with such complexion that reflected his most favoured view. They had come to know each other; Kaworu used to meet with him every afternoon at that same shore and see him home. He took him to see an orchestra, for they were both awfully fond of music and played little together. He remembered how Kaworu would always give him light touches to every insult he had given himself during those times. People were questioning whether or not they were courting and, when Kaworu would whisper warmly onto his ear with small jokes and complements, he always felt pleasantly confused. First of all it had been an excitement to him - he never knew that those feelings of admiration would escalate to love.

Of course, Misato had found this to be a strange bond, and had warned him about words he would say to him.

- There's just something about him… she said.

One day, he had quarrelled with Misato and after that he had to stay with his love frequently.

The evening deepened as the white of his shirt grew indistinct. Tomorrow was the day. He then remembered the girls in his life; each memory, although some were extremely painful, had some good parts. Rei had always been his favourite, but he liked Asuka too. Misato was getting more lonely; she would miss him. Moments with them together could be very nice. Not long before, all four were in one room, each with their own dance mat and danced as if their lives depended on it. The beer Misato had out was the closest logical explanation for the acts. Another day, when PenPen had come along, they had gone for a small picnic outside, on a slight sunny day, near a hill. He remembered Misato putting PenPen on her shoulders and rand in a circle to make the Children laugh.

His time was running out but he continued to stare outside the window, watching the cloud conceal the moon, darkening his and Kaworu's room, leaning his head against it. Outside, he could faintly hear a cry of a young child. He knew the atmosphere. Strange that it should come that very night to remind him of the tears he shed for all those painful memories. He remembered the nights when he thought Rei had died and Asuka's first day in a comatose; he was in his closed, dark room, releasing his anger, sadness and pan in pathetic sobs. He remembered Misato that next day, paralysed at his presence - sympathy with a mixture of confusion was what she showed as he walked lifelessly past her. He did not have the energy to open the refrigerator even to save his life.

He shook up in a sudden impulse of terror. Escape! He must escape! Kaworu would save him. He would give him life, perhaps love too. He wanted to live; why should he be unhappy? He had a right to happiness. Kaworu would take him in his arms, fold him in his arms - he would protect him.

He stood among the swaying crowd in the station. Kaworu held his hand and he knew he was speaking to him, saying something about the routine of the train over and over again. The station was full of businessmen with black suitcases. Near the entrance of the station, a reconstruction was held as he caught a glimpse of brown sacks lying in heaps beside the wall with small illumination. He answered nothing.

He felt his cheek go pale and cold, due to the disharmony of distress his surroundings seemed to show. He hoped something or someone would direct him, show him what was his duty. The train beeped a mournful howl into the dust clouds. If he went, tomorrow he would be standing in their new house, making a home with his beloved. Their passage had been booked. Could he still draw back after all Kaworu had done for him? His own distress awoke a sickness in his body and kept shifting his vision in a worried fashion.

A bell clanged upon his heart; he felt Kaworu clutch his hand

- Come!

All the choices of his world tumbled about in his heart. Kaworu was drawing him near the train; he would overwhelm him. He gripped with both hands at the iron gates nearby the drop-off.

- Come!

No! No! No! It was impossible! His hands clutched the gate in anxiety, as he gave the train a look of anguish.

- Shinji-kun! Shinji!

Kaworu rushes towards the double doors of the train and called to him to follow. He was shouted at to go by the ticket holders at the door, but he still called to him. He set his white face to him, passive, with a sensation of helplessness.

His eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition.


End file.
